


star-cross'd lovers take their pleasure

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: fire & powder [22]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Cult of Kate, Flashbacks, Frottage, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Massage, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Polyamorous Relationships, Polyamory, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon, Shotgunning, Vaguely Implied GNC Jaskier | Dandelion, character backstory, except not, except with alcohol, in which I use a conversation to infodump about Jaskier's past, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: Jaskier receives the message before Aiden even arrives.Another midsummer spent in Beauclair.
Relationships: Aiden/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: fire & powder [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698274
Comments: 114
Kudos: 214





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up two weeks late with starbucks* ....hi? haaaa i don't really even have an excuse, i just didn't have this fic finished and then i wholesale forgot for another week. a few different projects have distracted my brain so working on this series isn't happening at the pace i wanted it to lmao - i promise i AM still working on it, though, and there is no abandonment or hiatus as of now. just...slowness, because i am a slave to the shiny things, and also just...a hot mess. whoops. 
> 
> anyway. there is the vaguest implied homophobia in the flashback jaskier has with delilah, but it's SUPER vague.
> 
> also, a note i should have made like uhhhh maybe a dozen fics ago: unless i directly contradict it, assume that anything that is true in Heronfem's witcher fics is true in mine because i just...steal their wonderful worldbuilding a lot :D (with permission, i promise)
> 
> second chapter will be porn, i will warn again before, and rating will obviously change alongside tags.

Jaskier receives the message before Aiden even arrives.

The little bird looks exactly like the black kestrels Yennefer uses for messages, aside from the fact that it’s not a black kestrel, it’s a bat falcon instead. Jaskier studies it for a moment before he takes the message.

It really doesn’t look like a real bird.

But it _seems_ like a real bird.

He decides it’s not worth the headache to puzzle out. He’ll just ask Yennefer next time he sees her, if he remembers. It’s not really that pressing.

The note itself is less of a note and more of a letter, in an envelope and with a wax seal. Jaskier has frankly no idea who it could have come from, seeing as it clearly wasn’t Yennefer, and he’s never been given a message by a bat falcon of questionable reality before.

All the same, he breaks the seal and pulls out the neatly-folded parchment. The handwriting and the ink is as unfamiliar as the rest of it, but despite the elaborate packaging it’s a short letter, and the end tells him who, exactly, sent it.

_Jaskier –_

_Lambert will not be making it to Beauclair this year. He’s perfectly safe, but he was injured and cannot travel at the moment._

_I assure you he is very upset about this development, but I assume you would rather him be safe and healthy than with you, if being with you right now risks his health – which it would._

_There are active threats in the southwest of the Continent. Lambert is at a safehouse I will not disclose the location of, for obvious reasons. Once he is healed, he should not end up caught up in those threats as long as he’s smart. I would suggest you remain smart and stay out of the Sodden area, as well._

_I wish you luck at your competition._

_Best regards,_

_– Triss Merigold_

“Triss?” Jaskier asks aloud. 

It’s not as if they’re _strangers,_ but they don’t know each other well, either. There was something between she and Geralt once upon a time, and he thinks he remembers Eskel mentioning seeing her a few times, but never Lambert. He wonders if it’s just a happenstance that she’s the healer Lambert encountered.

He supposes it’s a good thing, either way. Without specifics, he can’t know how bad the injury was, but if it’s preventing a Witcher from travelling it can’t be anything pretty. He folds the letter back up and slides it into his doublet. 

He is mildly disappointed – and obviously worried – without Lambert here with him. With them, like it has been now for years. _But,_ his absence does give him an opportunity, and he’s not about to waste it.

Now, he just needs to find Aiden.

* * *

Thanks to the portal charm Eskel helped purchase in Cleves, Jaskier is in Beauclair slightly earlier than usual, so he has more time to wander than usual.

Or, well – he’s there slightly earlier and _alone,_ so he’s wandering instead of spending his days and nights in bed with his lovers.

The cottage he’s rented for the last few years is as cozy as ever. It’s the home of an enigmatic half-elf during the fall and winter, and he rents it out for the spring and summer; Jaskier’s only met him a handful of times, but after the first time they’d stayed, he’d quickly snatched the chance to have regular use of the place for a week or so around the midsummer festival. He’d picked up the key from the neighbor, as usual, dropped off his things, and then headed out to the city to explore.

And possibly find Aiden, he hopes. Or, if not Aiden, gifts for his lovers, as he’s taken to buying each year since the first. It’s mostly frivolity, but he knows his Witchers keep every gift, if not on their person then somewhere safe – Kaer Morhen for his Wolves, with the caravan for Aiden. 

He considers, for a moment, buying Letho a gift.

He doesn’t know when he’ll run into Letho next, but decides if he finds something he thinks the Viper won’t discard at the first opportunity, he may as well.

The market is small today, still just the usual characters of the city, not quite the bustling place it will be in two days’ time when the festival really begins. All the same, it’s rather nice to wander about, look at the wares, greet some of the locals he’s come to know over the years.

A few of them ask after his Witchers, long used to seeing him flanked by the two of them, or at least the one; he makes some excuses, not wanting to shout around that Lambert is hurt somewhere, and unable to answer for Aiden currently, and the people asking mostly accept it. The baker’s daughter raises a brow, though, and he sheepishly looks away. She chuckles.

She likely just assumes his Witchers are back at their cottage in bed – it’s not exactly a _secret,_ what they get up to anymore, more so just _unspoken_ – and he lets her think that. It’s a safe assumption.

Some little trinkets for himself as well as lunch acquired, he turns to head back to the cottage. Along one of the narrow paths, though, he accidentally runs into an elderly woman and knocks the basket she’s carrying from her arms.

He quickly shoves his own things into his pockets and doublet and bends to help her gather what appears to be laundry. He winces and hopes she was on the way to wash, and not returning from it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, carefully gathering the clothes and rags and placing them back into the basket.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the woman says, and Jaskier freezes for a split second before he’s gasping loudly, drawing the attention of a group of boys passing by.

“Nanny Dela?” he asks, and finally turns to properly look at the woman. 

She squints for a moment, but then a wide, toothy grin spreads across her face. A grin he _knows,_ and he grins back, just as wide and toothy and happy.

“Dandelion,” she says, all affection, and opens her arms. She’s still bent slightly after righting the basket on the ground, and he’s still crouched awkwardly to help pick up the mess, but he turns all the same to accept the hug, no matter how awkward.

Eventually, though, they do have to separate, Delilah groaning quietly about her back. Jaskier hurries to gather the remaining spilled laundry and picks the basket back up when he stands.

Delilah is still smiling at him. “You’ve grown into quite the handsome man,” she says, and there’s a twinkle in her eye. He flushes a little, not really embarrassment or sheepishness but more happiness akin to the overwhelming excitement he used to get as a boy.

Still gets, sometimes, but less often now.

“And you’ve gotten old,” he teases, and Delilah laughs.

“You thought I was old when I was chasing after you as a little hellion,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Am I properly old now, or _ancient,_ hm?”

Jaskier chuckles. “You’re _timeless,_ ” he replies.

Delilah rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Always were a charmer,” she says. “I suppose that’s why you became a bard, hm? Charming audiences across the Continent.”

Jaskier flushes again, more sheepish this time. Delilah laughs again.

“Yes, I’ve heard about your wanderings,” she says. “Though not nearly enough. It’s been a long few decades, Dandy.”

Jaskier hums, nodding, and considers the bread he’s still holding. “How about lunch?” he asks. “We can catch up.”

Delilah’s smile softens a little. “Of course,” she nods, gesturing out to the bustling street he’d just come from, back toward the city proper. “Lead the way.”

* * *

They settle in the outdoor seating of a little cafe, and order food and tea. Delilah looks just like he remembers from his childhood, but graying and wrinkled, a little more weathered. But the smile lines around her eyes are the same, just deeper; her eyes are the same twinkling brown he remembers encouraging him to pursue his interests, her smile the same one he remembers from whenever she was pretending to scold him.

She’d really been the mother he’d never had, as a boy. He swallows back a sudden lump in his throat at the thought.

“How are Marlena and her children?” he asks, instead of thinking too hard about what he’s feeling. He’s almost certain it will come up – it always did, with Delilah, when he was a boy – but that will be later.

“She’s well,” Delilah answers. “And so are they. You know, Helena is only ten years younger than you. It’s odd, how quickly time passes. My youngest grandchild is _twenty-three_ now.”

Jaskier hums. That’s another thing he doesn’t like to think about too deeply, the passage of time. “It is odd,” he agrees anyway. “What have you been doing, since her children are grown, now?”

Delilah shrugs. “Nothing much, really. I take care of some other ladies, do laundry, cook and clean. But it’s much less taxing than chasing after children, certainly.”

That makes Jaskier snort. “Are you trying to imply _I_ was difficult?”

“I’m not _implying_ anything,” Delilah chuckles, “I’m saying you were a terror. Used to put on _my_ shoes and stomp around, and that time I found you in Marlena’s – ” 

Delilah stops, frowning slightly. Jaskier squirms slightly, knowing the moment she’d just paused in the middle of mentioning. An afternoon in the summer, when he was seven, maybe eight.

_“Julian, what in Melitele’s name are you doing?”_

_He spins around, too-large shoes clunking awkwardly as he moves. The yellow dress spin around him, dragging some on the ground but still flaring out prettily. He laughs and sings a few bars of a drinking song he’s overheard his uncle singing after dinner._

_“I like it,” he says, and finally stops to look at Nanny Dela. He’s confused to find her chewing her lip and glancing back towards the door._

_She comes nearer, and kneels down to his level. He frowns when her expression remains upset._

_“Julian,” she says, soft and careful. “Julian, darling, you_ can’t. _”_

_“...can’t what, Nanny Dela?”_

_She sighs and glances back to the door again. “You understand that you’re the oldest, Julian, right?”_

_“Mhm!”_

_Another sigh. “Julian Pankratz of Lettenhove cannot be seen to be anything more or less than a normal, fine male heir, my love.”_

_Julian frowns more and looks down at the dress and shoes he’s in. They’re too big, of course; they’re Nanny Dela’s shoes, and Marlena’s dress. But they’re_ pretty, _the shoes a soft brown and the dress a bright, buttercup yellow. The reality of what Nanny Dela is telling him slowly settles in, and his lip trembles._

 _He clenches his fists. “Then I don’t want to be Julian!” he shouts. Nanny Dela winces back, just slightly, and Julian feels guilty but he’s_ angry, _he wants to spin around in the dress and the shoes and sing, but she’s saying he_ can’t, _and –_

_“I know, darling, I know,” Nanny Dela says, soft and soothing. Julian sucks in a breath, eyes stinging, and she wraps gentle, familiar hands around his shoulders. “How about this. You’ll be Dandelion, when it’s just us, hm? No more Julian, when we’re alone, just Dandelion,” the name she calls him when he’s being silly, the one she always says with a smile when she tucks him into bed, “and then, when you’re old enough, you can decide who you want to be.”_

_He cries a little, a storm of emotions he can’t quite understand or grasp raging in his chest, and Nanny Dela just holds him, for a long time. But he agrees._

And when he was fifteen, he’d gone off to Oxenfurt with his fathers begrudging approval, and became Jaskier. When he’d graduated, he’d been asked if he would use a stage name for himself, for when he performed, and he’d smiled and said _Dandelion._

Then a year after graduation, he met a grumpy Witcher in Posada.

He reaches across the little table they’re at and grasps Delilah’s hand. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a little choked. “I – you gave me a name.”

“What?”

“Dandelion,” he says. “It’s my stage name, and you gave it to me. Jaskier was...a choice, but it was related, too. And besides that….” He swallows and squeezes Delilah’s hand, smiling slightly when she turns her palm up and squeezes back. “It was to honor you. Because you loved me, always, for exactly who I am. You were...the only real mother I ever had. Six graves in Lettenhove – ”

He stops and shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “No, sorry. Five graves in Lettenhove. I’m so glad yours isn’t one of them, Nanny Dela.”

There’s a pause, silence that’s filled and charged but not tense, not uncomfortable. He can see the tears in Delilah’s eyes, but she’s smiling like the sun.

“Answer a question for me, Jaskier,” she says, and other his chosen name in her voice feels exactly like the first time someone had called _Dandelion_ as the winner in a bardic competition. “Are you well, now? Taken care of and content?”

Jaskier smiles, a little shy and a little sly, and looks to the side for a moment. “I am,” he answers. “There’s a... _myriad_ of people,” he says carefully, trying for a polite tone but ending in mischievous, “to take care of me. And I’m more than content, I’m _fulfilled._ ” 

Delilah snorts, and Jaskier bites back his own laughter, the double-entendre landing exactly as expected. Delilah takes her hand from his, only to lean over and smack him lightly upside the head. 

“Good,” she says. “But _really,_ Dandelion – _Witchers._ I always knew you hadn’t a _scrap_ of fear or self-preservation.”

Jaskier doesn’t manage to bite down his laughter this time. “I – I’m told that – quite often!” he snorts, and Delilah is back to grinning like the sun. He wipes his eyes after a moment, starting to calm, and glances over Delilah’s shoulder to the street.

He catches Aiden’s eyes, and feels like his chest is expanding. He grins, wide enough to hurt, and stands to wave the Witcher over.

Delilah stands, too, wrapping the remains of her lunch in her apron and tucking it into her basket. She’s still smiling, and seems entirely relaxed despite the Witcher clearly headed directly for them. Jaskier feels like he might start tearing up again.

“Aiden,” he greets, as the Witcher finally gets close. They share a quick, socially appropriate side-hug, and then Aiden is turning to Delilah and – _bowing._ Jaskier huffs and rolls his eyes, but gestures to him all the same.

“Aiden Kett,” Aiden says, formal but teasing all the same. 

“My…,” Jaskier pauses, entirely unsure.

Aiden laughs. “Companion,” he finishes. “One of many. And the lovely lady?”

“Delilah Ruvenz,” Delilah answers, with a little mocking curtsy. 

Aiden laughs again, and so does Jaskier. Delilah is still grinning, that familiar, mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Well, I should be going,” Delilah continues. “But it was wonderful to see you, my love. Come visit sometime, hm? I’m easy to find. And it was wonderful to meet you, Master Witcher.” She gives that same little curtsy, including a wink this time, then touches Jaskier’s arm lightly before turning and disappearing down an adjacent street.

Aiden turns to him. “So who was she, exactly?”

“She was my nanny, when I was a child,” Jaskier answers, still looking in the direction that Delilah went. “...more of a mother, really.”

Aiden hums. “You had a nanny as a child,” he states, as if it’s news, and Jaskier hums, realizing it would be, for him.

“And you have a last name,” he retorts, instead of acknowledging that. Aiden rolls his eyes.

“I bought dinner,” he says, a rather blunt non sequitur. “And wine. At the cottage.”

“Then shall we?”

Aiden gives him a bow and gestures forward. Jaskier snorts and shoves at his shoulder on his way past.

“I already know you’re charming, you don’t have to be _smarmy_ about it.”

Aiden laughs, loud and clear. Jaskier smiles wide enough to hurt all over again.

* * *

Once they get back to the cottage and have opened the wine, Aiden asks after Lambert.

Jaskier’s good mood falls a little.

“I’d almost forgotten,” he mumbles. He pulls Triss’ letter from his doublet. “He won’t be coming, this year.”

“What?”

Jaskier hands him the letter and then gestures to it. He pours them glasses while Aiden reads, trading one for the letter when he’s done. Aiden is frowning, and Jaskier is sure his expression is similar, if slightly more resigned.

“Should we try to go to him?”

Jaskier shakes his head, sitting on one of the plush couches in the little lounge area. “How would we find him?” he asks. “I would assume he’s at a safehouse, and a safehouse known and likely protected by a mage. One whose power is nothing to sneeze at, to boot.”

Aiden grumbles and sits next to him. “Yes, but….”

“He’s safe, and will be well soon enough. I’m sure he’ll hunt one or both of us down before the summer and fall are out,” Jaskier soothes, reaching out and settling a hand over Aiden’s knee. The Witcher leans into him, still pouting a little – he only calls it adorable in his head – and takes a sip of his wine.

“Okay,” he finally says. “So. Just you and I this year.”

Jaskier takes a sip of his own wine. “Mhm.”

“It’s a first.”

“It is.”

“So….”

Jaskier smirks against his glass, side-eyeing the Witcher. “Are you trying to delicately ask if we’re still going to fuck?” he asks. He doesn’t bother to try and smother the teasing tone or the chuckle that follows.

Aiden snorts, and it sounds self-deprecating. “Yes,” he says. He reaches out and sets his wine glass on a nearby table, then plucks Jaskier’s from his fingers and sets it down as well. Once that’s finished, he turns and presses Jaskier against the arm of the couch, looking for all the world exactly like a prowling cat to match the roaring head on his medallion.

“So,” he starts, and Jaskier chews his lip impatiently.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Aiden looks over to it, frowning. His nostrils flare and when Jaskier makes a soft, questioning noise, he just shakes his head. Whoever it is knocks again.

Jaskier squirms out from underneath Aiden and goes to the door. There’s no peephole, so he just opens it, and finds a vaguely familiar face on the other side.

“Master Jaskier,” the man says, with a little bow. “I’m here on behalf of the council of Beauclair, who organize the midsummer festival and its bardic competition that you’ve been a star of several times.”

Jaskier hums an acknowledgement, waving behind him slightly to let Aiden know everything is fine. He thinks the reason he recognizes this man is just seeing him in passing for several years in a row at the festival, but no name comes to him, and one isn’t offered, either.

“The council would like to extend an invitation to you,” the man continues. “To be a guest judge at the competition, this year.”

Jaskier quirks a brow. “And not perform?” he asks, mostly a clarification than a true question.

The man nods, then frowns and shakes his head. “Well,” he says, a little slowly, “you would not be a contestant, no. But you would have the chance to give a short performance prior to the competition, as an esteemed guest, judge, and previous winner, if you would like.”

He considers for a moment. He’s already achieved his original goals for this festival; he’s won the most times out of anyone that’s competed in the last hundred years, and he’s won much more than twice in a row ( _and_ was the first to ever do so). And he’d never really felt like he needed to make new goals related to this specific competition, after he’d achieved those two.

“Alright,” he agrees. “I assume there are a few things I’ll need to know about this position as a judge?”

The man nods again. “Yes, of course. All of it is detailed in this,” he offers a small stack of parchment, “as well as where you’ll be needed and when, and anything else you’ll need to know.”

Jaskier nods and takes the parchment, skimming over the first paragraph he can see. _As a judge selected by the council...fair, honest, unbiased...a show of sportsmanship…._ “I understand,” he says. “Thank you.” He tips his head, and steps back to close the door.

“So you’ll judge instead of compete?” Aiden asks.

Jaskier nods, tossing the papers to the side. “I’ll read them later,” he says when Aiden gives him a perplexed look. He flops back down to the couch. “Now, where were we?”

Aiden laughs, then smirks, and settles back onto the couch as well, hovering over Jaskier.

“Right here,” he says.

Jaskier grins.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I will miss Lambert this year,” he murmurs at Jaskier’s ear. “But I can’t say I haven’t wanted a chance to have you alone for a while now.”_
> 
> _“Oh?”_
> 
> Jaskier and Aiden settle into their first midsummer without Lambert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iiiiiii forgot about this yesterday. which is ridiculous because this is the perfect chapter for valentines day,,, and yet
> 
> this is just porn! literally nothing important going on, except maybe that aiden is a teeny bit insecure about him and jaskier and jaskier absolutely squashes that immediately.

The first kiss is almost tentative, slow and sweet, just the two of them getting reacquainted after a year of distance.

The second kiss is not any of those things.

Jaskier groans and arches up into Aiden, one hand curving around the Witcher’s ribs and hooking into all of his criss-crossing belts and the other going to his neck. The hair at his nape is a little longer than usual, and he plays with it as they kiss, tugging lightly.

Aiden groans and shifts to rest his hips against Jaskier’s, then pulls back just enough to nip sharply at his lip. His mouth travels down then, to Jaskier’s chin, along his jaw, down his throat. 

“Mm, yeah,” Jaskier mumbles, tipping his head back as Aiden goes. Wet, open-mouthed kisses and little, stinging bites trail down his neck, to his shoulder, then back up.

“I will miss Lambert this year,” he murmurs at Jaskier’s ear. “But I can’t say I haven’t wanted a chance to have you alone for a while now.”

“Oh?” Jaskier gasps slightly when Aiden rolls his hips, rolling back into the movement on instinct. His eyes flutter at the spark of pleasure. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Wasn’t really sure if I could,” Aiden murmurs, a little quieter than before.

Jaskier forces his eyes open and shifts his hand, pushing through the longer hair at the top of Aiden’s head and then grabbing to pull him back. He finds wide golden eyes and a little frown on the Witcher’s face and sighs lightly.

He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Aiden’s mouth. “Darling,” he says. “You’re as much mine as the others, and that means I’m as much  _ yours. _ Yes, our arrangement is usually a threesome with Lambert between, and I love it – I know you do too.” He chuckles lightly, turning his head to ghost his lips along Aiden’s jaw. He feels the Witcher shiver lightly and smirks. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to at least  _ ask _ for things you’d like. Especially if it’s just some time one-on-one, hm?”

Aiden hums, but still sounds a little unsure.

Jaskier bites back the invitation that wants to tumble out of his mouth.  _ That’s for later,  _ he reminds himself, and kisses Aiden’s earlobe. “Would you begrudge Lambert his winters with me?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think he would ever begrudge you of having me alone if you wanted it?”

“...no.”

“Exactly,” Jaskier smiles and nips lightly at the shell of Aiden’s ear. “Now. Kiss me again.”

Aiden obeys, easy and eager, and Jaskier melts back into the soft, comfortable couch, clinging to his Witcher.

* * *

They make out and rut lazily for a while, not really an intent to get anywhere but just for the sake of it. Eventually, though, Aiden pulls back, mouth reddened and pupils blown, and reminds Jaskier of dinner.

“Before it goes totally cold,” Aiden says, lightly teasing, and Jaskier laughs. 

“Of course,” he agrees. 

Aiden sits up, though a little reluctantly. Jaskier sits up as well, pressing a kiss to the Witcher’s collarbone before wriggling out from under him and going to get their dinner. He also refills their half-empty wine glasses.

They eat their lukewarm meal in silence, both clearly feeling the absence in the room but trying to ignore it.

Jaskier is glad he gets a chance to be alone with Aiden, and obviously Aiden feels the same. But that doesn’t mean that neither of them are going to think about Lambert and worry. 

“Mm,” Jaskier hums softly when he’s finished, and finishes off the last of his second glass of wine. “I...kind of just want to go to bed,” he admits.

Aiden huffs lightly. “...me too,” he admits after a moment. He finishes off his dinner and his wine, too, and tips his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”

Jaskier nods and stands, stretching. “Yeah,” he nods. But he stoops and grabs the wine, though he leaves the glasses. Aiden quirks a brow, but Jaskier just gives him a smirk over his shoulder.

“No reason to waste a perfectly good bottle of wine by leaving it because of an early night,” he says. “We can drink in bed.”

“Straight from the bottle?” Aiden asks it as he leans against the doorframe into the bedroom, watching with a little smile as Jaskier strips his clothes off without an ounce of shyness. 

Jaskier just gives him that same smirk. “We’ve certainly done more hedonistic things, Witcher.”

Aiden snorts. “True.”

He starts to strip as well, careful of his weapons and the contents of the always-supplied packs he had strapped to his waist and thigh. Jaskier takes them and sets them safely on the windowsill, then gets rid of his smallclothes and crawls into the soft bed. It’s slightly musty from a few weeks without occupants or being cleaned, but Jaskier has slept on rotting straw before and been grateful for it, so a little dust is more than fine.

Aiden joins him just after he’s gotten settled and has grabbed the wine again. The Witcher pauses just in front of him, on his knees in the middle of the mattress, as naked as the day he was born. Jaskier gives him a slow once-over, not bothering to hide his desire, and Aiden’s fists clench lightly. Jaskier smiles.

“Gorgeous,” he compliments, entirely sincere, and Aiden doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. Jaskier gives him another once-over, taking note of new scars and other changes, then takes a generous swig of wine and gestures toward himself. 

The Witcher shuffles forward, and Jaskier leans back to let him straddle his loosely crossed legs. He hands over the wine bottle when Aiden reaches for it, watches as he tips his head back and takes a long, slow drink. His throat is a work of art, Jaskier thinks, especially from this angle.

He thinks of the time’s he’s gotten to see it bulging around Lambert’s cock, his  _ own  _ cock, and shudders.

Aiden’s eyes are dark and hooded when he tips his head back up. He licks his lips, still slightly red from their earlier kisses and stained lightly from the wine. Jaskier takes the wine back and sets it safely aside before reaching up to tug Aiden down into a kiss.

It’s slow, deep and messy and thrilling. Aiden wriggles a little closer, pressing them tighter together, and Jaskier leans further back to rest against the headboard. The kiss goes on until Jaskier is forced to pull back to suck in desperate, gasping breaths, and Aiden just uses the moment to duck down and leave a hickey just barely above where Jaskier’s collars sit. 

Jaskier laughs, breathy and half-moan. “Possessive,” he teases, and Aiden growls softly, playfully, against his shoulder. He threads a hand through the Witcher’s hair and brings him back into a kiss. Aiden sinks into it, hands wrapped around Jaskier’s nape and tangled in his hair.

This kiss is slower, more intimate than the last. Jaskier trails light fingertips over Aiden’s shoulders, his neck, along his jaw, then through his hair to do it all over again, and the Witcher shivers. A teasing suck at his bottom lip makes him moan softly, and Jaskier smiles into their kiss, teasing his tongue along the sharp line of Aiden’s teeth. 

Aiden gives a low, rumbling growl, something that sounds almost more like a purr, and Jaskier pulls back with one last nibble at his lip. He leans over and grabs the wine again, but before he can bring it up to take a sip, Aiden steals the bottle from his hand.

He pouts a little, but Aiden just chuckles and takes a healthy swig, then another, but Jaskier only sees his throat move to swallow the first. He quirks a brow when Aiden sets the bottle aside again and leans a little down, hand sliding around to cup Jaskier’s jaw and tilt his face up, gentle but firm. He relaxes into the hold, lets Aiden move and adjust him, and then when the Witcher tugs at his lip with a thumb, opens his mouth. Aiden leans a little forward, dragging his still-closed lips across the swell of Jaskier’s bottom, and he realizes suddenly what the Witcher is doing.

He presses forward a little, mouth still open but less wide, and Aiden presses their lips tightly together and tips Jaskier’s head back a little further before slowly, carefully opening his own mouth. Jaskier swallows the mouthful of wine he’s given, the taste somehow better taken from Aiden’s mouth instead of the bottle. 

The Witcher’s tongue sweeps in after, still tasting of the sweet alcohol, and Jaskier reaches up to hold him, wrapping his arms around Aiden’s shoulders to pull him in closer. Aiden comes to him easily, arms sliding until his elbows rest on the back of Jaskier’s shoulders, so they’re pressed as tightly as they can get in this position. 

They’re both half-hard, but it doesn’t really feel pressing.

Slowly, they shift and slide down onto the bed, until they’re lying diagonally across the bed on their sides, still tangled together. The kisses speed and slow, deepen and go chaste, all in a slow, in-out pattern. Jaskier thinks it might even match the tide, if they were anywhere near an ocean.

It makes him grin slightly against Aiden’s mouth. The Witcher just traces the curve of his smile with his tongue, and kisses him again, a deep, slow one this time.

They start to fall asleep like that, eventually, the wine still a third full and lips swollen, pressed so tightly together it’s hard to tell where one of them begins and the other ends.

“I love you,” Jaskier murmurs, feeling weights pull at his eyelids. Aiden nuzzles into him, a few messy but chaste kisses being pressed to his chin, his lower lip. 

“I love you, too,” he mumbles back, clearly just as sleepy.

Jaskier kisses him until his consciousness fades into darkness.

* * *

The next morning Jaskier is fetched to help set up the roster for the competing bards, but after that he’s left free for the day to do as he pleases.

He considers for a handful of minutes between staying in or going out. Aiden hadn’t been dirty, last night, had clearly taken a bath recently – but he’d been tired, and tense, and still sporting the usual layer of a day or two of general sweat and grime.

Jaskier has made a name and reputation for himself in Beauclair, and he knows exactly the place to relieve Aiden – and himself – of that dirt and tenseness. He makes a quick stop at a nearby tavern to have one of their general errand boys send a message to the establishment he’s planning to visit.

Aiden is still lazing around in bed when he returns to the cottage. Jaskier leans against the doorframe and studies him for a moment, chuckling when the Witcher catches his eye and gives a dramatic stretch.

“Come with me,” Jaskier says, once Aiden is done with his showing off. “I want to take you somewhere.”

Aiden hums, getting out of the bed lazily and with a slouch to his shoulders that has no right to be as attractive as it is. “Where?”

“It’s a surprise. Just get dressed, and leave the swords. A dagger should be fine if you insist, but if you’re too heavily armed they won’t let you in even with me there.”

“Because I’m a Witcher, or because of the weapons themselves?”

“If they know what’s good for them,” Jaskier grins sharply, “just because of the weapons.”

Aiden smirks, rolling his eyes. “Feral bard,” he mutters, and starts pulling on his clothes. He’s dressed quickly, Witcher efficiency ever-present even when he’s trying to be lazy, and Jaskier stops him for a short, biting kiss before they leave the cottage.

The Witcher whines at the shortness of it, but follows where Jaskier leads.

Auroras, or The Auroras Healing Waters, is a large and expensive bathhouse offering a myriad of services common and uncommon. It’s also  _ exclusive, _ only allowing guests under strict guidelines.

Witchers technically fall outside those guidelines. Jaskier, though, knows entirely too much about the owner, and has been in and out too much to be told no.

“What kind of  _ bathhouse  _ is this, again?” Aiden asks, as they approach the ostentatious doors.

“A perfectly above-ground bath, with communal and private baths as well as many relaxing treatments for various ailments,” Jaskier says brightly, half-parroted from the Auroras’ own advertisements. “Although there are  _ assistants _ you may hire, assuming you are a trusted customer,” he adds, cheeky, and Aiden sucks in a breath.

“You won’t be needing one, darling,” Jaskier continues. “Since I’m here.”

Aiden gives him a peculiar look, eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“ _ Oh,  _ indeed,” Jaskier chuckles. 

They’re greeted politely by the hostess – both of them are, which means they received Jaskier’s message and have chosen the right option – and led to a private room off to the side of the foyer.

“If you would both strip down,” she instructs, eyes perfectly level with their eyes and posture impeccable, tone perfect as well. “And leave your things here. They will be kept perfectly safe.”

Aiden snorts, but doesn’t say anything, and starts to strip as instructed. The hostess turns and leaves, and Aiden starts to tug at Jaskier’s clothes, too.

Jaskier laughs. “Patience,” he says. “We have to wait til the baths for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I  _ mean, _ there’s more than just baths here, and I intend to take advantage. Now, hands to yourself.”

Aiden frowns slightly but puts his arms at his sides. He’s still in his smallclothes, but that can be dealt with in a moment.

“Good boy,” Jaskier coos, and is gratified to see the odd mix of pleasure and challenge that Aiden radiates after the praise settles.

The finish undressing, and another woman – one that’s rather scantily clad, but not overtly exposed – comes to lead them to another room. Here, there are fascinating sort of waterfalls set against one wall, powered by machinery or magic Jaskier doesn’t know and mostly doesn’t care.

“Rinse off,” the second woman says, gesturing to the waterfalls. Jaskier steps under one and uses his hands to scrub a little with the rinse, and Aiden follows his lead at another one of the waterfalls. That finished, the woman leads them out and to another room, where there are several raised daises with soft towels covering them. Jaskier knows from previous experience that they can be moved, so he goes over to one and unlocks the wheels to move it significantly closer to another, then locks the wheels again and climbs onto it, laying down on his front and pulling one towel to cover his ass.

Aiden studies the scene for a moment, but seems to decide it’s simple and safe enough, and imitates him, settling onto the other dais. If they reach, they can hold hands between the platforms. Jaskier doesn’t do it, but it makes him smile, and he thinks from the slightly wide-eyed look Aiden gives him, he realizes this fact, too.

With their heads turned to see each other, they don’t really see what else goes on around the room – or, well, more likely Jaskier doesn’t see anything, and Aiden sees significantly more – but either way, Jaskier knows the pattern. Two masseurs are moving about the room, gathering supplies for a basic massage. Simple, really.

Though he wonders briefly if Aiden has ever received a massage by a trained masseur, and realizes the answer is almost definitely no. He grins to himself, and just shakes his head slightly when Aiden hums a question. 

The massages are good. At least, Jaskier’s is, and from the quiet sounds Aiden is making, he can assume the same of the Witcher. The time feels like it almost flies by, and then the masseurs are having them roll over to their fronts and carefully readjusting the towels for a modicum of modesty.

Jaskier’s thrilled to find that he’s not the only one giggling slightly about that.

Next is facials, and Aiden makes a vaguely disgusted noise when the special mud is spread over his face, but doesn’t jerk away or actually protest. Jaskier chuckles some more, but relaxes into his own treatment, sort of floating there for a while. The facials are quicker than the massage, but Jaskier doesn’t really have a grasp on the length of time for either, if he’s honest.

But the masseurs clean their faces and then gesture them over to the door that leads to one of the private baths. Aiden almost struggles off of the table, looking vaguely sleepy, and Jaskier grins, grabbing his arm to drag him along a little faster.

As soon as Aiden is sunk into the bath and they’re alone, Jaskier climbs into his lap.

Aiden laughs lazily. “Hm?”

“ _ Now _ you can misbehave,” Jaskier says, grinning as he ducks down and kisses up Aiden’s throat. The Witcher tips his head back with a pleased sigh, chuckling a little when Jaskier intentionally brushes his eyelashes against his damp collarbone. The room is steamy, the water just at the edge of too hot, and Jaskier luxuriates for long moments in the feel of it, the heat sinking into his bones and Aiden’s surprisingly soft skin against his.

“Just me?” Aiden asks after a moment, and Jaskier straightens to look him in the eye.

The Witcher’s head is still tipped back, and his eyes are half-lidded, making the yellow look more like burnished gold in the low, filtered light. He’s smirking, all lazy limbs and confidence, and Jaskier isn’t quite sure if he wants to give in to it or push until Aiden  _ does  _ something.

He still hasn’t decided by the time he answers, but it ends up not mattering. “Depends on what you’re thinking about me doing, I suppose,” he says, low and seductive, and Aiden’s smirk sharpens just before he’s jolting forward, catching Jaskier in the water and then spinning them so Jaskier is the one pressed up against the edge of the bath, water splashing at his chest with the sudden movements. He sucks in a breath and lets it out on a laugh, and Aiden laughs, too, but he’s still moving, though slower now. 

When he’s finished shifting, he’s half in the bath and half out, partly kneeling and almost standing, and his cock, half-hard and  _ so _ pretty, is about level with Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier grins before licking his lips lasciviously and then opening his mouth. Aiden grunts and settles one hand tight in Jaskier’s hair while the other lifts his cock and drags the head over his tongue. He lets it happen, blinks up at Aiden for several long moments, wriggling his tongue against the slit, skirting his foreskin. Aiden groans softly and carefully, slowly presses his cock into Jaskier’s mouth.

It’s still just barely half-hard, so Jaskier can fit most of it in his mouth without any issue, and he revels in the feeling of it twitching and pulsing in his mouth as Aiden hardens. Aiden grunts, grip in Jaskier’s hair tightening and then relaxing in rhythm with the pulses of blood to his cock. Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed and he sucks softly, shuddering at the needy little noise Aiden lets out.

Aiden moves slowly, gently, for a long while, and then pulls back. Jaskier bites back a whine and pries his eyes open to find the Witcher looking down at him with something like awed confusion in his eyes. It’s not a new look, but it’s one he both loves and hates to see.

Before Aiden can stop him, he’s grabbing the Witcher’s hips and shifting, so that Aiden falls onto his back on the floor, knees bent and feet still dangling into the water. Jaskier is under no illusions, knows that the only way he could do that is for Aiden to be totally relaxed, totally  _ trusting,  _ and then also  _ allowing _ him to do that. He swallows back the emotions in his throat and moves up to straddle Aiden’s waist. 

The Witcher looks up at him with raised brows, almost like a challenge, and Jaskier smirks back as he slowly rolls his hips, grinding his own cock into Aiden’s belly and rubbing Aiden’s over his cleft. A tease, really. 

Aiden makes a soft, rumbling noise, almost a snarl, and Jaskier shudders hard enough to scrape his knees on the stones, just slightly. The Witcher notices and does it again, grasping at Jaskier’s hips to force him further back, making him grind against his cock properly. Jaskier whines, high in the back of his throat, and follows the movement, lashes fluttering as pleasure sears through his blood.

They just grind against one another for a drawn out moment, Aiden panting and snarling, Jaskier whining softly. He braces himself on Aiden’s chest, nails digging stinging lines each time Aiden’s cock pushes just right and grinds over his hole.

And then suddenly, they’re moving. 

Aiden flips them, practically slamming Jaskier down to the stone, though he cradles his head softly, and kisses over the line of his collarbone almost as if in apology. Jaskier just pants and hooks his legs around Aiden’s waist to let him continue their rutting against each other, tipping his head back into Aiden’s hand.

“So fucking  _ pretty, _ ” Aiden murmurs, mouthing over Jaskier’s throat. “Feel so good, Jaskier,  _ oh. _ ”

Jaskier moans softly and tips his head back up to fumble forward and catch Aiden’s mouth in a slick kiss. Aiden ruts a little harder into him, knees shifting where he’s balanced at the edge of the tub, and the movement aligns their hips better.

“ _ Ah, _ fuck,” Jaskier whimpers, head falling back again. “Mm, Aiden,  _ yeah. _ ”

Aiden just growls softly and sinks sharp teeth into Jaskier’s throat, body tensing in a familiar way. Jaskier presses closer, as close as he can possibly get with where he is and how he’s being held, and moans when he feels Aiden coming, making a mess of their groins and bellies.

“ _ Jaskier, _ ” Aiden pants, finally letting go of what will be a hellish bruise in the next hour or so. Jaskier giggles lightly, shifting his hips up against Aiden’s slick belly. 

The Witcher leans down again and kisses him, messy and uncoordinated as he reaches between them to palm at Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss to moan wantonly, probably  _ too  _ loud, but he doesn’t care. 

“Come for me,” Aiden murmurs. “Yeah, like this, fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“Ai –  _ Aiden, _ ” Jaskier gasps, head lolling, “ _ fuck, _ yes. Love –  _ oh,  _ love you.”

Aiden grunts and shifts to press his nose right up against where Jaskier’s pulse is thundering in his throat. “Yeah, love you,” he mumbles back, licking up the tensing tendon in Jaskier’s neck as he twists his palm around the sensitive head of his cock, and Jaskier  _ shouts. _

“Ah, ah,  _ fuck! _ ” He arches hard, enough to almost overbalance the Witcher, but Aiden holds on and strokes him through it, until Jaskier collapses back down to the stone floor, panting and whining slightly. 

“Now we actually need the bath,” Aiden slurs against his collarbone. Jaskier laughs, weak and breathless still.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees. “You’ll have to lift me in, I think you stole my legs.”

Aiden strokes down his body to squeeze at his thighs. “They are very nice legs,” he says, and the grin in his voice makes Jaskier groan.

“ _ Cheesy, _ ” he accuses, but still kisses Aiden when the Witcher leans up for it.

“Still yours,” he whispers back, sounding just a little unsure, and Jaskier kisses him again, deep and passionate.

“Still mine,” he agrees.

* * *

Despite their tryst in the baths, the both of them are practically vibrating out of their skin by the time they make it to the privacy of the cottage.

Aiden presses him up against the wall next to the door, once it’s closed, and kisses him, tongue slick and demanding, the press of his thigh between Jaskier’s almost too much with how wound up he is already.

“Ah, ah,” Jaskier pants, tipping his head back against the wall when Aiden leaves his mouth to kiss down his throat, between where his tunic gaps at the front. The Witcher tugs a little at his chest hair, just a tease, barely even a sting, and Jaskier ruts his hips forward in response. Aiden laughs.

Between the two of them, they manage to leave a disastrous trail of clothes, some with strained and ripped seams, on their way to the bedroom. Jaskier gets pressed up against the dining table on the way, and the hallway wall, and the bedroom door frame, before Aiden finally pulls him into the bedroom proper and tosses him bodily onto the bed.

He cries out, half shock and half exhilaration, bouncing a few times before he settles and can scramble further onto the bed. 

Aiden follows, practically stalking, and Jaskier moans, shivering. His legs spread automatically, and Aiden gives a low, rough laugh as he climbs right into the space that Jaskier has made for him.

“Pretty and tempting,” Aiden murmurs, leaning down over Jaskier’s body without touching him. He ducks close enough that Jaskier can feel the puff of his breath, and inhales pointedly before groaning softly. Jaskier shudders again and arches up, searching desperately for skin contact. Aiden gives it to him, lowering himself down until they are pressed together from chest to thighs. “Want to worship you.”

“You mentioned,” Jaskier pants softly, tossing his head back when Aiden grinds their hips together. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Yeah,” Aiden says, “want to take care of you. You take care of us – of the Lambert, the other Wolves, of  _ me _ – and you deserve it. Deserve so much.” He mouths over Jaskier’s pulse point, sloppy and clearly wanting. Jaskier whimpers.

“Please,” he begs, and Aiden growls.

“I will,” he says, and then he’s sliding down, until he’s level with Jaskier’s cock.

He licks a broad, hot stripe from base to tip, and Jaskier shudders, hips jerking. The Witcher’s agile tongue curls around the head, dipping under the foreskin and pushing against his slit before he’s licking back down, taking one of Jaskier’s balls into his mouth and sucking.

Jaskier fists his hands in the sheets and cries out, eyes squeezed shut. Aiden switches to the other testicle, and then repeats the circuit he’s just made. He tries to keep his hips still, to keep his grasping hands away from Aiden, but it’s futile.

Eventually, he starts to rock his hips along with Aiden’s rhythm, chasing the pressure of his tongue, his mouth, and one of his hands ends up in Aiden’s hair, gripping tight and pulling, until he can grind his cock against Aiden’s face.

Aiden whimpers for it, shifting just slightly to take Jaskier into his mouth, first just the head and then more, more, until he’s sunk to the base. His throat spasms and so does Jaskier.

“Ah,  _ fuck! _ ” he shouts. “ _ Aiden,  _ Aiden,  _ shit. _ ”

Aiden pulls back, then bobs forward again, all the way down. Again and again, until Jaskier picks up the rhythm and starts to move him, starts to fuck his face properly.

And the Witcher just takes it, takes it and moans and drools and begs, when his mouth is free for seconds at a time. He’s giving slurred praises and garbled pleas and Jaskier is going to shatter apart.

“Yeah, ah,” down, up, “fuck, Jaskier,” down, up, “so good, fucking perf –  _ cht, _ ” down, up, “use me,  _ yeah, _ oh.”

“ _ Aiden,”  _ Jaskier hisses, and the Witcher finally pulls back, leaving his cock messy and slick and cold. Jaskier whines but lets him go, watches blearily as he leans to the side of the bed for a pack and pulls oil out of it. 

When he leans back up, he’s grinning, and Jaskier groans before reaching up and pulling him back down into a messy, uncoordinated kiss. 

They don’t manage to leave the bed until very late the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be honest, y'all, i'm...........really unsure about this one. this fic, as a whole, really, but especially this chapter and the last. idk. kate has told me i'm not allowed to decide if my writing is good or bad anymore which is fair tbh but like.................. :/


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Eventually, Jaskier gets caught up in preparations for the festival. Every time he complains, though, Aiden just kisses his temple and reminds him that he did this to himself._
> 
> _The bastard._
> 
> Jaskier and Aiden's time at Beauclair comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiii
> 
> i am head empty no thoughts enjoy

Eventually, Jaskier gets caught up in preparations for the festival. Every time he complains, though, Aiden just kisses his temple and reminds him that he did this to himself.

The bastard.

“Master Jaskier,” another voice pipes up from behind him as he’s helping set up the judge’s table. He sighs and turns around to find a young, pimply faced messenger boy.

“Please,” he says, “just Jaskier. What can I help you with?”

“Uh – the, uhm, Eliza! She said – she needs you?”

Jaskier hums. “Alright, I’ll be there in a moment.” He resists the urge to ask if the boy stammers like that normally and shoos him off. He rubs at his temple and finishes with the table, then jogs in the direction of the tent Eliza spends all of her time in.

Of course, he gets stopped by three fans and two more people helping run the show on the way, but such is the way these things go, as he’s discovered. He finally arrives at the tent only to have Eliza pull him in and hand him a glass of wine.

“Sit,” she says, and he obeys automatically, collapsing onto a little stool she gestures toward and taking a swig of the wine. “Your Witcher said you looked like you needed a break.”

“And the wine?” Jaskier asks. Eliza laughs.

“I’ve been a part of this shindig since it started running, boy,” she says, which isn’t really an answer to Jaskier’s question but also is, at the same time. He laughs and takes another drink. 

“Where is Aiden, anyway?” he asks, once the glass has been drained and then refilled. 

Eliza shrugs, perching on her own stool. “Avoiding the crowd, I’d guess. Smart one, that Witcher. He appeared to say you looked like you needed a break, asked if I could make that happen, and then went on his way.”

Jaskier hums. He hasn’t seen Aiden since he was dragged from bed at an ungodly hour to start helping set up for the festival. At this point, he’s almost regretting agreeing to be a guest judge – it’s much more responsibility than he would have guessed.

He supposes that at least he knows the answer if they ask again.

“Are you going to do your guest performance?” Eliza asks, and Jaskier shakes himself out of his thoughts.

He nods. “I have a brand new song to debut,” he says. “And I did promise I would debut it here.”

“Who did you promise that to?”

“The person the song was written about.”

“The Witcher?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “ _ A  _ Witcher, but not Aiden, no.”

Eliza just huffs. “A Witcher’s a Witcher,” she says, but there’s no malice in her tone. Jaskier just shrugs and finishes his wine.

* * *

“Did the competition go well?” Aiden asks, when Jaskier finally finds him after the event. He’s perched in a tree, of all places, looking stunningly comfortable and lazy, limbs dangling.

Jaskier holds up a bottle of wine, incentive for him to come down. “You didn’t stay to watch?”

“I watched you sing,” Aiden says, a little evasively, and hops out of the tree. Quite literally; he sits up on the branch he was sprawling over and then just  _ jumps _ to the ground. Jaskier snorts.

“Mm, okay,” Jaskier allows. He settles at the base of the tree and gestures for Aiden to join him. The Witcher does, of course, but he also forcibly pulls Jaskier into his lap. “Demanding.”

Aiden just hums and nuzzles at his neck. “Did I miss anything interesting?”

Jaskier shrugs. “For you, probably not.” He laughs a little. “One of the younger competitors puked backstage. Valdo Marx disqualified himself because he saw me at the judges’ table and walked off stage mid-song.”

Aiden snorts. “Isn’t he your age?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Jaskier grins and opens the wine, taking a drink. Aiden chuckles, grabbing the bottle and taking his own deep swallow.

For a long few moments they sit in silence, just passing the wine back and forth while they look at the stars. Eventually, though, Aiden sighs, and Jaskier gently nudges an elbow into his side, a silent  _ what is it? _

“I just miss him,” Aiden murmurs. “Watching the stars like this. Think he could be, too?”

Jaskier snorts softly. “No,” he says honestly. “He’s not prone to romantic nonsense like we are – unless we’re around. More with you, though.”

Aiden hums. “Really?”

“Really.” Jaskier takes a drink of wine. “He’s always been different with you, I’ve told you that.”

“He’s even more different with you,” Aiden says, and even after so many years it sounds a little like protest. Jaskier just nudges him with his elbow again.

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Jaskier assures him, knowing that Aiden is quietly uncertain even when he comes off as unfailingly confident. “In fact….”

He’d not really  _ forgotten, _ per se, but he’d been putting the idea off. Now, though….

“What?”

“Well,” Jaskier squirms out of Aiden’s arms, just enough to turn and face him. Aiden lets him, frowning slightly. “I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh?”

Jaskier nods. “Would you like to winter with me? With us?”

Aiden’s eyes go almost comically wide, and he sucks in a sharp breath that he doesn’t let out for a worrying amount of time. Before Jaskier can prod him, though, he’s speaking again, quiet and almost more of a squeak than anything, a mouse heard from a couple of rooms over. “At Kaer Morhen?”

“Yes.”

Another moment of silence, slightly worrying because Jaskier doesn’t think Aiden has started breathing again yet, and then – “You’re sure? And – and Vesemir? He’ll really….”

“He’s the one who suggested it,” Jaskier tells him, smiling a little at the memory. “Just before I left in the spring. Apparently Lambert has been asking to bring you for years. Vesemir asked me if I thought it would be safe.”

He doesn’t miss the way Aiden flinches. He reaches out and takes his hand, entwining their fingers together.

“And you….”

“Told him the truth,” Jaskier says, squeezing Aiden’s hand where he’s begun to tremble slightly. “You’re a good man, Aiden.”

“Witcher,” Aiden says, and it’s a joke, if a weak one. Jaskier grins and leans closer to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Still a good one,” he says.

Aiden untangles their fingers, only to slide his hand up Jaskier’s arm and shoulder to his neck, resting his palm over Jaskier’s nape. Jaskier’s smile softens, and he turns to press their foreheads together, balancing the wine between his thighs so he can grasp at the nape of Aiden’s neck, too. 

Jaskier starts to hum softly, a little melody that’s been kicking around for a few days. Aiden breathes out a long, relieved sigh, and when he tips his head up to catch Jaskier’s mouth the kiss is sweet and full of passion. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, right up against Jaskier’s lips. “Yes, I want to winter with you. Will  _ all  _ of you.”

The next kiss is deeper, slower, and Jaskier carefully moves the wine so that Aiden can press him back and down, one hand still cradling the base of his skull and the other wrapped almost possessively around his waist. Jaskier revels in the kiss, in the way Aiden settles over him, in the grin he can feel on Aiden’s lips each time they part for breath and then come back together.

Eventually they part, Aiden shifting to settle more comfortably over him and tuck his face into Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier tips his head back to let him, watching the stars spin above them, constellations he knows and ones he doesn’t, the navigational stars as bright as ever.

And then he sees a streak of brilliant light, arcing over the mountain peak.

“A shooting star,” he says, tugging Aiden up and pointing just as the streak starts to fade. “Make a wish.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “Really?” he asks.

“Yes! It’s a tradition.”

“It’s silly.”

“It is not,” Jaskier insists. “Come on – just a wish. I’ll even tell you mine.”

“Hm?”

“I want all of my loved ones to live happy lives. Even after I’m gone.”

Aiden frowns slightly. “Don’t talk about that,” he murmurs.

Jaskier smiles and reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind Aiden’s ear. “It’s inevitable, love. But there it is. Now, make your wish.”

The Witcher huffs and rolls his eyes again, but then he’s looking off into the distance before he closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath.

Jaskier kisses at his chin. “See? Not so hard.”

Aiden just shakes his head. “Ridiculous bard,” he murmurs, and then they’re back to kissing, and Jaskier thinks he could spend many,  _ many  _ nights just like this. 

* * *

The next morning brings the rumor of a royal wyvern nesting in the mountains to the southwest, and news of brewing trouble in Sodden. 

“You could come with me,” Aiden suggests.

Jaskier considers it, of course he does, but ultimately decides against it. “No,” he says, “I should return to Oxenfurt – I did promise Eskel I would meet him again before the summer was out, and he said he’d likely be circling back to Redania.”

“Okay,” Aiden nods. “Be careful – you heard the news, same as me.”

Jaskier nods as well. “I did,” he agrees. “I promise I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Aiden huffs and pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Meet in Ard Carraigh by Saovine?”

“Mhm.” Jaskier presses a kiss to his cheek. “Now  _ you _ be careful, Witcher.”

Aiden snorts. “I am careful,” he says. “Kiss Lambert for me, if you see him before the winter.”

“The same to you.”

“Of course.”

Jaskier watches him gear up and head out, and then gathers his own things.

By the time he hits the road out of Beauclair, that melody has gained a few words; he thinks he wants to tell a story about a cat and a sparrow, and their favorite red wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for being really nice about my magpie syndrome and erratic updates 💜

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for sticking around if you have, lmao. 💜
> 
> hoping i'll be able to get the next fic done before this one is finished posting - planning on once a week again - but i won't make any promises in case i'm wrong. if y'all ever want to know what i'm up to, i'm vvvnitwitchery#7070 on discord!


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